


Sastiel

by Evanna_Adams



Series: Hundred and One Ways to Say 'I Love You' or HAOWTSILY [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3209420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evanna_Adams/pseuds/Evanna_Adams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set of stories for Sastiel.</p><p>When Sam prayed to Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sastiel

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a friend who bought me a ticket for A Very Mannly Supernatural Christmas event on stageit.

Aged five, it was merely a public school at Iowa where the boys had been sent to. Sam was still too young to do much except waddle to his classroom. He never cried. Dean had told him not to. He heard dad cry at night sometimes, coming home – if you could call the Red Rose Motel a home – covered in blood most days. Dean was getting good at patching him up and Sam was quicker in getting the first aid box to him. Dean still slept close to him at night, curled up around him, even though Dad didn’t like it. He said that Sammy had to learn to be a man. But Dean just wanted him to be a kid before that.

One day when Sam got back from school, he saw a tattered book from the open maw of his father’s duffel. He waddled over. He loved books, and he adored old, tattered books. They just had so much more to tell. They smelled nice. He picked up the small book carefully. It was The Bible.

There were things written inside the cover. But he couldn’t read anything except for ‘The’ and ‘Bible’. Not yet. He sat down on the floor, trying to make sense of the words of the yellowed pages. The spine was barely keeping it together.

“Put it back before Dad gets home,” Dean told Sam, ruffling his hair and going to the stove to make something for them.

Sam nodded, turning the pages reverently.

It was still early when John got home, but he saw red when the Bible in Sam’s hands. He was drunk; Sam could smell it on his father’s breath. He scurried to put the precious book back in John’s duffel. It was an hour’s rant of the respect of other people’s property, and another hour of glaring. But soon enough, John’s head doled on his shoulders and he fell asleep in the armchair as usual. That night, Sam slept pressed up against his brother, whimpering softly. Dean told him not to cry.

So he didn’t.

~*~

It was a catholic school in Sour Lake that introduced a nine-year old Sam to the benefits of praying. He didn’t agree with them fully. God wouldn’t abandon you if you didn’t pray to him, or ask for forgiveness. Wasn’t that the point of believing in God? Someone who would forgive you unconditionally, if you regretted it enough?

When he questioned them, the teachers shushed him, so he sat down. It was disappointing to say the least. He was used to the no questions, no answers policy at home, but in school he expected answers.

But he didn’t give up on praying. He even kept the motel Bible this time.

“Dear God,” he started, unsure of himself. “Please keep my dad safe,” he decided, pursing his lips. “He goes on scary missions, and I want him to be safe. Keep Dean safe because he sacrifices a lot trying to keep getting food for us.” He hesitated, biting his lip. “I hope,” he said, voice cracking. “I hope my mom is with you. I hope she’s safe with you… Amen.”

Sam slept better that night, curled under his blanket and Dean right in reach on the other bed.

~*~

The fact that Sam prayed remained a secret. He wasn’t sure why. Well, he had an idea why but that didn’t mean it had stopped him before.

Honestly, it felt embarrassing.

John had thrown away the idea that a God existed anywhere when Mary had died. He had probably dismissed the idea since his father had walked out on him all those years ago. The man was made of stone, no matter what Dean said. Sam couldn’t see him the way Dean did. He had tried. He had tried to understand where his father was coming from, but it was hard when all he wanted to go to school, and have a normal life. But John would come in every months, after being AWOL, and ask them to pack everything up.

The man hadn’t just lost his wife that night. He had lost his children too.

But Dean was too loyal. He stuck to his father’s side and his orders.

He was completely different when John wasn’t around though. Dean was an amazing brother, and a mother hen, though he wouldn’t admit it. He didn’t allow himself to nest, lest John came in asking them to pack up. But he encouraged Sam to nest. He took him under his wing at school, and helped him through all the interactions. He was popular wherever he went. Popular for drinking, partying, wooing girls, and taking care of his little brother. Most boys were embarrassed by their younger siblings. But Dean wore Sam like a badge on his chest; proud like a mother. Sam wasn’t complaining.

He prayed every night before bed. He prayed for his brother.

~*~

He knew Dean must be worried. God, he knew that. But he didn’t want to return. He was tired of getting shepherded around the entire country, with no leads. Dean swallowed it all up. Swallowed down everything that their father said about ‘leads’ and ‘trails’. He read Dean’s face better than the old man. Dean didn’t believe him, but he sure as Hell wasn’t going to contradict.

And Sam was done. He was tired of this bullshit his father was spewing, and honestly, he had just thought it’d be a few hours away from home. He had intended to go back.

But then he had the home of someone he didn’t know, free pizza, a dog. Everything he had ever wanted in life. He just wasn’t ready to leave this place.

“Dear God, I’m sorry for doing this to Dean. I know I must be hurting him. And I know he’s worried… But I want this. Is it… Is it bad? Is wanting this bad, God?” He paused for a beat. He was smart enough to not expect an answer, but naïve enough to want one anyway. He swallowed down the disappointment. “Tell him I’m sorry… Tell him I’m okay. God, please. Dean needs this. He needs to be told I’m okay. Make sure dad doesn’t hurt him. Make sure he doesn’t shout too much… Amen.”

It was another day and a half before John and Dean found him. There had been a bruise on Dean’s jaw that seemed about three days old.

~*~

Losing his brother made Sam forget the existence of God altogether. He remembered this one time that he had taken his mother’s Bible from his father’s duffel out of spite. It hadn’t mattered though. What he had been expecting, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t different than any other Bible expect that his mother had touched it.

Did that change the essence of the Bible. For his father, it did. It changed everything to him.

To Sam, it was any other Bible.

He didn’t mean to disrespect it. Or his mother’s memory.

But how could you love a memory.

~*~

When he was fifteen, he had a phase. Most children had a phase where they learned about sex, sharks or sharknado. Sam Winchester learned about angels. He learned the names of every angel. Even the obscure ones. Dean rolled his eyes at him when he found out the stacks of angel lore under his bed, but didn’t comment further.

He remembered how he had been stuck on one name in particular, and he hadn’t understood why.

_Castiel. The Angel of Thursday. A soldier. Angel of beginnings and long distance travel._

They were always beginning on lives. New lives. Always travelling. His fingers had traced the name, and he had committed it to memory.

It hadn’t taken long to forget, somehow.

Years later, he had shaken the hands of the same angel, whose eyes had flickered in surprise, and he was quick to pull away from Sam. Sam was an abomination after all. Castiel had tried to hide his discomfort, but Uriel had flaunted it. They were a pair really.

So, God really had existed all along.

~*~

With the Apocalypse at rest and his soul restored, Sam was a different man. Scratch that, he was a broken man. He was barely holding on with the pressure of the wall on his mind and he barely knew what to do. He couldn’t tell Dean. Dean would worry, and what good would that garner. He couldn’t talk to Bobby because the man would probe him to tell Dean. The only person left was not even a person at all.

He sat staring at his hands for the longest time, trying to assemble the collection of words inside his head into something that made sense. He sighed explosively, fingers pressing into his closed eyes till he saw stars.

“Castiel,” he started. ‘Dear’ sounded too much of an endearment. “Castiel,” he said again, a little more confident. “Where-where do I start asking for forgiveness… Seems like the past few years I have accumulated mistakes… Of course, you know all that… How do I even ask for salvation. How do I redeem myself to my brother. He doesn’t…” He blinked, frustrated with himself. “He won’t look at me like he used to. He… Cas, he looks at me like I’m fit to blow any second. As though, he’s already accepted… No… No. As though, he’d be there to watch me fall apart again. And he’d have to put me together… God, how do I even start to fix this, Cas… I don’t deserve to ‘fall apart’. I have neither the equipment, nor the time. Cas, man, you gotta help me… Please.”

There was no reply.

~*~

It was a particularly quiet day at the bunker. It had to be because Dean had decided to bake today, and that usually stole so much of the man’s attention, he barely had time to cause a ruckus. Sam stole the opportunity to read in peace. That was until Castiel came out of his room, looking adorably disheveled and nose and cheeks pink from the shower. He smiled at Sam, padding over to him barefoot.

“You should wear socks, Cas. You’ll catch a cold,” Sam said, amused.

Castiel shrugged as he sat down. He pushed his cold feet against Sam’s calves, warming them.

Sam laughed looking down. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Castiel looked at him with a tilt of his head. “This is what Dean did a couple of nights ago. Is this not how humans warm their feet if they don’t get their socks.”

And wasn’t he just so damned cute. “Yes, it is, Cas,” Sam said quietly. “Next time, don’t forget your socks though.”

Castiel nodded, stoically. He looked away, intently playing with a paperweight that also looked like a snow globe.

Sam considered him, quietly. “Did you hear our prayers before?”

Castiel looked up, eyes wide and clear blue. He was surprised by the question, and barely managed to hide the hurt behind his eyes. Being human was still so new. He looked down at his eyes, a short broken laugh leaving his cracked lips.

Sam felt his heart clench. “I’m sorry, Cas. You can ignore that question.”

“No,” Castiel said, looking up. He shook his head. “It’s okay,” he said dismissively.

And hadn’t he learnt so much from them. The worst role models. Before he could beat himself up more about it, Castiel continued with a small sigh.

“I heard them, Sam. I had heard them a long time before I ever met you. Of course, they weren’t directed at me back then. Except… You prayed to me once. Do you remember that? You were a teenager.”

Sam frowned slightly, trying to remember and then his eyes widened with realization. “Oh, yes. I was fifteen. Enamored with angels, and I had been so caught up in your name. No wonder it had sounded so familiar. I don’t know why I forgot it…” Sam shook his head, clearing his thoughts and looked at Castiel, giving him permission to resume.

Castiel took in a deep breath. “I… Heard everything that you prayed to me about. And the things you didn’t,” he said. And there, that was Sam’s question answered.

Sam knew Castiel had understood his question, but then again, coming from angel to human, Castiel had had the worst examples of being human. And he had taken to them like fish to water. He shifted his foot slightly to catch Castiel’s attention.

Castiel sighed softly. “I’m sorry I never replied, Sam… What would I say… We were never allowed to reply personally unless that was what the situation required. We were _asked_ to respond in action and solitude.” He stopped, snorting softly, mouth pulled down. He turned his eyes up to Sam. His eyes were always too wide, too blue, too honest.

Sam held them for a moment before looking away, nodding stiffly. A hand found its way to squeeze Sam’s and it was gone before Sam had even registered its presence.

He eyed Castiel who stared at his own hands, wringing them over and over in small movements. It was fascinating, just as fascinating it was to Castiel. He had told Sam once that it was different, feeling every movement now. It was different than when he had been an angel. That was a taboo word now, though. Dean used it to rouse emotion, Crowley used it to incite. Dean was more successful usually, but it wasn’t worth the periods of radio silence, so Dean had stopped.

Sam hadn’t realized that Castiel was looking at him, until he saw the blue eyed gaze on him. Castiel smiled, awkwardly.

“Sam, you are a good man,” he started. He shook his head when Sam opened his mouth to interrupt. “Please, let me…” he murmured, eyes tinged with desperation.

Sam took a deep breath and nodded.

“You _are_ a good man. You have helped the world. You have saved the world numerous times, Sam. None of us are unhampered from mistakes. Sam, they were mistakes. In my case…” Sam caught his hand, stopping him from wringing them over and over. Castiel’s hand settled warmly in his and he sighed. “This is not about me… You have made mistakes, and you have more than made up for them… You don’t need to search for salvation, Sam. You have been redeemed. You are forgiven. In Dean’s eyes. In mine.” Castiel squeezed his hand gently.

Sam glanced up, and smiled slightly. He didn’t believe it. He believed Castiel. He had believed Dean all the times that he had taken to say the same words, but he didn’t trust himself. He didn’t know how to say it. He didn’t know how to explain it to Castiel that it wasn’t him, it wasn’t his pure intentions messing with his head. He looked up to say something, but he was met with the same warm gaze.

He smiled softly, the smile growing on his lips and Castiel smiled back. He didn’t have to say anything. Castiel understood. The boy who broke the world sat holding the angel who broke the world the second time. And they understood that no matter what they said, they would always beat themselves up over it. They would not believe it, not really. But they were healing. And that was enough.

“Thank you, Cas,” he said quietly. They held everything. His gratitude and his understanding.

Castiel nodded, moving his hand to entwine Sam’s fingers in his and held them up, observing them. “This an action of adoration, yes?” he asked.

And he was still so innocent. This was something Sam and Dean could never corrupt, no matter how hard Dean tried. It was just the way Castiel saw the world.

Sam laughed softly and nodded. “It is.”

“I like it,” Castiel proclaimed, nodding to himself.

“I don’t even want to know what you kids are doing,” Dean said, putting down a tin with a steaming pie between Sam and Castiel.

It was perfect, and it smelled beautiful. Dean looked at them, grinning, expectant.

“It is amazing, Dean,” Sam said, slightly amused but mostly just proud.

“This smells delectable, Dean,” Castiel continued, smiling warmly at him.

Dean preened, pulling a chair from the other table and sitting down at the head of the table. Castiel immediately grabbed his hand, entwining their fingers. Dean looked at their joined hands and looked up at Castiel, who shrugged with a smile.

“Huh… Explain to me, you giant dork, how to expect to eat with both your hands in ours,” Dean asked, good naturedly.

Castiel regarded their hands, trying to think of something and failing. “That does seem to be a problem.”

Dean snorted and let his hand go with a squeeze. He pulled out three forks from his pocket, handing them each one.

“Eat,” he ordered.

And eat, they did. 


End file.
